


Queen Takes King

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait), vividwings



Series: Ars De Esse Parenti [6]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vividwings/pseuds/vividwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of woman does it take to catch the eye of a Primarch? Horus finds himself equal parts intrigued and frustrated with the mysterious Lady Athamyra, while his father is suspicious of everyone and everything. Plots unfold and long-dormant ambitions rise to the surface on a Terra that is not as unified as it appears...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl Who Would Be Queen

“Did you hear the news, Lady Athamyra?” Her governess asked over breakfast. They sat at the table, set with a full collection of delicate china and silverware. The dish was one Athamyra usually enjoyed: a flaky pastry served with a side of fresh red berries. Such fresh food was a delicacy reserved for the truly wealthy on the hive-world of Terra.

“The entire civilized galaxy has surely heard by now.” Athamyra said with all the biting derision of her thirteen years. She wore her hair pulled back from her face with a green velvet ribbon. It fell in ebony waves down her back, standing out against the ruffled white organdy of her dress.

“It is a joyous occasion.” Her governess responded with patience. Lady Barbary was an older woman, pleasantly rounded, with graying brown hair tucked up in a bun with jeweled hairsticks. She wore clothes that were several years out of style, but the air of an absent-minded spinster was an affection that hid a sharp and subtle mind. “That you would do well to remember.”

“Hmph.”Athamyra played with her food.

“Get all your bitterness out now, because in three weeks the Emperor and his son will be back on Terra and you know what is expected of you.” Lady Barbary sipped her recaff calmly, as if her ward was not in the beginnings of a tantrum.

“I’m not bitter.”Athamyra snapped. She was, of course, and she knew it. She felt a certain juvenile resentment towards the man who had her parents killed, though she knew it was unreasonable. He had hardly been there, and she didn’t even remember her parents. But always, when she was unhappy, she imagined life would have been better if she had been with her family, even though all she had ever heard about the Rajal line was violent and cruel. At least there was passion there, not merely the cold calculation that bled off the Emperor’s every decision like vapor from dry ice.

“Yes you are. Understandably so, but you are. Would you like some more recaf?”

“You don’t even know who I am.” She replied sullenly.

“You are forbidden to tell me. I don’t have to know, to know that you had a family once, and now you don’t. It is the story of all the Imperial Wards.”

“And we’re all bitter.”

“Not all. Some choose to make the best of it and shed their grudges like an outgrown skin.” Lady Barbary said.

“Maybe I’m not that good a person.”

“I think you are. You come from a good family.” She took a bit of her pastry. “These are very good. You should eat yours before it gets cold."

Athamyra grimaced at her plate. “I heard my father had my mother flayed. But even that would have been better than this prison.”

“That is most likely an unsubstantiated rumor. Narthan Dume’s excesses were often attributed to his nobles too. Still, I highly doubt your previous position would have be better than this. You have your family’s lands, incomes, and estates, held in trust until you are an adult and ready to serve the Imperium.” Lady Barnaby’s unflappable exterior was slowly giving way to concern.

“I don’t want to serve the Imperium. The Imperium killed my family and it’s going to kill me.” Athamyra said with hard finality.

“Why on earth would you think that?”Lady Barbary returned in shocked tones.

“My first governess told me that my father’s pet psyker predicted I would die at the hands of the Thunder Warriors, so he sent me away to the mountains.” Her voice was barely more than a murmur. “The psyker said ‘She will die at the hands of the children of the Emperor' and my father believed him.”

“Lady Athamyra, stop. If my lord ever found out you were discussing your family-” Lady Barbary’s words were quick and nearly fearful. “Well, I would lose my job and that would be the least of our worries.”

“I’m sure he’s plenty distracted, and so is the Emperor. The Emperor has a son now, forged out of his super-human genes like the greatest Thunder Warrior that ever lived. We’re only important so that we can later control the lands of our birth in his name. And with the Primarchs being found, he can maintain control effortlessly with the might of his demigod children. I can talk about my parents all I want.”

“You would get us both in trouble. Think of others besides yourself! Everyone who overhears this will be tracked down and silenced, including me. They cannot allow your origins to be known, not until you’re old enough to manage how everyone will try to use you.” Lady Barbary said with quiet urgency.

Athamyra sat still for a long second and then slumped in her seat. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. But you have to be careful. Just because the attention of my lord and our beloved Emperor is elsewhere doesn’t mean that others won’t exploit that. You still have power. All the Wards do. You need to look out for yourself, because in the end no one else will.”

“Not even you?”Athamyra asked as she started to cut her pastry.

“I can’t. I would if I could, but I am only a governess. The addition of a Primarch to this mix will destabilize things in ways I can’t begin to predict.”

Athamyra frowned. “How so?”

“He is no longer a solitary figure. He has a son. That is a monumental change. You should keep your eyes open.”

* * *

She only saw him from a distance that day, and she didn’t hate him like she had expected to. He seemed not to notice the swirling politics around him. He smiled with the shining, infectious goodwill of someone who believed everyone loved them. When his gaze met hers, for the briefest moment, she felt as if he were singling her out and telling her everything she wanted to hear without saying a word.

The effect was unnerving and she broke his gaze. He moved on.

She pitied him. She wanted to tell him that the world was not a kind place and that even though many were taken in by his boundless charisma, there would always be some who would not.

Her pity didn’t mean she didn’t think he was a warmongering idiot, though. She was jealous despite ignorance, because being a warmongering idiot in this galaxy was still l better than being an orphan girl.

* * *

It was a decade before Horus came back to Terra once more. Athamyra stood with the other Imperial Wards at the welcome ceremony, as she had ten years earlier, and managed to avoid him all day. She had no particular desire to spar with his inhuman charisma again. She imagined she could, but she wanted to see how he behaved on the floor of the Council before she tried to engage him in private conversations.  
It was not difficult. She doubted he realized who the Imperial Wards were, if he even knew they existed. He was much more occupied with the High Lords and similar noteworthy people. However, this was not the short stay that rumor had indicated, it seemed he intended to be here for some time. He took to attending sessions of the Council of Terra, drumming up support for the Great Crusade with the untutored genius that talent provides.

Athamyra was being groomed for a position as a representative from the Pan-Pacific and saw him from across the vast, marble lobby of the Council of Terra. She did not think it would be hard to avoid him. She took a roundabout way across the floor, stopping to chat with other politicians, nobles, hangers-on, and the staffers that actually did all their work. She smiled and laughed and passed along and received dozens of subtle hints and facts about the upcoming debates so that when she stood beside Representative Sing of the Pan-Pacific delegation, she would be able to inform him of what he needed to know. Some secrets, though, she planned on keeping to herself. Representative Sing didn’t need to know that some of his allies had switched their allegiances from him to her, or that some of the old guard were too busy shoring up their own positions against the circling sharks of the new generation to assist him in defending his position from her.  
Despite her efforts, it was becoming common knowledge that she had already usurped power from the Representative and only permitted him to continue in his position because if she governed visibly, her age and origins would be questioned. The Representative himself had yet to realize it, but it was only a matter of time.

She was engrossed in conversation with one of her fellow Wards, from Merica, when she noticed everyone around her suddenly fell silent. Feeling not unlike a wildcat cornered by a bear, she turned to face the looming figure of Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the Luna Wolves, and so far the Emperor’s only son. He was handsome, in a strange, gigantic way. His wide spaced blue eyes sparkled with his smile. He looked like his father after a fashion, or at least the image of himself that his father chose to be writ upon propaganda posters and vast murals across Terra. She had never actually met the Emperor, or seen Him up close.

Some of those around her stared at Horus Lupercal in awe, losing control of their niceties and regarding him with slack-jawed adoration like the demigod he was. Others fell to their knees. Some few had the presence of mind to bow. These were the ones who had met him before, she imagined. The only people entirely unaffected were his escorts, four bare-headed marines in shining Luna Wolf white.

She curtsied. No trick like this would awe her. She had been able to curtsy when she was three before the throne of Narthan Dume, despite the twisted experiments that guarded him and the crackle of warp taint that surrounded his pet psykers. Though she imagined no one here would recognize it, she added the sweep of the gown and the near-kneeling posture that she would have given the so-called tyrant of the Pan-Pacific Empire. It was petty of her, she knew, but sometimes a little self-indulgence was necessary.

“Primarch.” She greeted him.

“My Lady.” He replied. His voice was deep, resonant, and so smooth it seemed to calm even her nerves. She suppressed a shiver at the sound. The Emperor had done a good job building him. Everything about him urged her to trust him, believe in him. “I hope I am not intruding, but I know I have seen you somewhere before.”

“It was a very long time ago, but when you first arrived on Terra, I was among the throngs of nobles who came out to welcome you to our home.” Yes, her home, where she had been born and raised and he had not.

“Might I have your name?” He asked, all charming goodwill.

“Lady Athamyra, my lord Primarch.” She imagined he already knew it and her face. This might have been planned by the Emperor, to let her know that ambition did not go unnoticed. She was the first of the Wards to aspire to a seat on the council, likely decades before anyone expected it. She would have to keep a lower profile.

“Would you do me the pleasure of walking with me to the Council Chambers?” Whispers started like a breeze in the grasses. That was unexpected.

“It would be my honor.” She smiled, but her tone let him know she was doing this because politeness demanded it and nothing else. Everyone seemed too enthralled by his aura to notice the sarcasm. Except him. Oh, the flicker in his smile was well worth it. A crack in the perfect façade.

“I hope this day finds you well.” He extended his arm, and feeling not unlike a child beside him, she took it. A glance over her shoulder at his quiet guard showed a mix of expressions - the light-haired one looked surprised, the broad-shouldered one was smirking, the one with a topknot glowered at her like she was a threat, and the one that looked like a smaller version of the Primarch simply raised one eyebrow.

“As well as can be expected, my lord.” She kept her calculating gaze on him mostly to unnerve him rather than in the hopes of detecting anything from his facial expressions. “I imagine we will have quite the debate ahead.”

“How do you see it going, my lady?” He was everything a warlord at peace should be, it seemed, polite and interested in what she had to say. No doubt he would disregard it completely.

“Oh, I imagine that His Imperial Majesty will find His funding eventually, but we Terrans will manage to pull out enough concessions to ensure that the irradiated wastelands the Unification Wars wrought will be cleaned up.” It was a gamble, reminding him of the wars. If his father had told him about them in detail, he could wave it off without excuses. But if the Emperor hadn’t, he might be surprised to learn the scars of Unification were not already healed.

The slight pause before he replied spoke volumes to her. Oh, she had him now and he didn’t even see it. “I am sure you understand the need for the Great Crusade.” He said in reply.

“Oh, yes. I do very well, sitting as I do at the tops of the Spires. But I am hard-pressed to explain it to my fellow citizens who still linger in refugee camps. There go I but for the grace of our beloved Emperor.”

“Your diligence to your duty does you credit.” Horus stated with another one of those smiles he gave so well.

“A leader is hardly worth the robes they wear if they do not provide for those who owe them fealty. It is their taxes that feed us and the ravenous hunger of the Imperial Armies.” She gestured around at the opulence that surrounded them.

“As you provide for your people, I must provide for mine.” He smiled indulgently at his escort of marines, who for the most part remained impassive, though the light-haired one’s lips twitched in what might have been an Astartes smile. It was hard to tell.

“Those are your people, then?” She asked in the most innocent voice she could muster, but she pitched it to carry. As if everyone wasn’t already listening, but she might as well.

The moment of surprise that flitted through his beautiful blue eyes was exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t expect him to be shocked or angry, but she could put him off balance.

“What can I say? I’m an indulgent father.” He played it off like a joke, but she knew he was struggling to keep up, and went for the kill. One of the guards, the broad-shouldered one, made a coughing sound that might have been a laugh.

“Providing your children with new ships to carry them to new wars so they can fire new guns and kill people is most certainly an indulgence when the children of my lands starve through each winter, Primarch.” She said with dead seriousness. At this rate she was going to win the debate before they even stepped into the Council Chambers.  
He did not expect her to pull that one out so fast and he struggled to recover. “You are a compassionate woman, my lady.” He feinted. She saw it for what it was and ruthlessly turned it back to her point.

“I am merely human.” She answered as if it explained everything, with a rising note of tension. The look of hurt in his eyes made her realize that was a sore point. Perfect.

“Lady Athamyra, I highly doubt you are merely anything, and any appearance of normality hides immeasurable depths.” He seemed to mean it.

“You should try bullets rather than compliments, my lord, as they are more likely to hit their target. You seem so much more skilled with them, after all,” she fired back as they approached the doors to the hall where they must split off to their respective delegations. He appeared completely stunned that she would rebuff him so and she suppressed a smile at his expression. “Good day, my lord Primarch.” She curtsied once more.

“My lady.” He replied with a short bow before stalking off with his escort. The broad-shouldered one appeared to be suppressing laughter.

She walked towards the Pan-Pacific delegation through a wall of whispers. Let them talk; it could only help her cause. Besides, the thirteen year old in her had enjoyed showing him that genetic modification could not match skill.


	2. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says “I find you attractive” like arguing incessantly.

Lady Athamyra was a problem. Not a big problem, He had dealt with far worse, but a problem nonetheless. An annoyance that might one day grow into an aggravation if it were allowed to remain unchecked. In the time He had been away from Terra, she had subtly usurped power from the reliably sycophantic Representative Sing, whom she was supposed to be assisting. She seemed to understand the political arena with a talent that appeared to come as natural to her as breathing. A brush against her mind told Him she was not a psyker, but something about her felt… off. 

+Valdor.+

My Emperor? The Chief Custodian thought in reply. He was on the opposite side of the Inner Courts, patrolling the Hall of Weapons, but the voice of the Emperor was only as far away as one’s own mind.

+Arrange a background check on Lady Athamyra of the Imperial Wards.+

As my Emperor commands. Valdor thought. The Emperor left him and His mind flit to another source, someone he trusted but was less distinctive than Malcador. 

+Arlette.+

-Yes, my Emperor?- The young Sister of Silence signed to empty air. 

+You will attend a gala ball and shadow my son. Speak to Valdor.+

-Yes, my Emperor.-

* * *

She was ignoring him. 

She was ignoring him!

Lady Athamyra of the Pan-Pacific delegation, Imperial Ward and daughter of who knew which decadent noble line, had shown Horus up in the most impossible way, in public no less, and now she treated him like he didn’t even exist. She slid past him, around him, never letting him maneuver her into a situation where she would have to choose between talking and being rude. 

To make matters worse, his Father was being terribly quiet on the subject. He’d said something about ‘defeats’ and ‘lessons’ and ‘patience’ but Horus was not a patient person. 

Now they were both at the same party. She was wearing a brilliant yellow dress that brought out the gold flecks in her green eyes. It was a strapless affair with a set of matching fingerless gloves that were so long they almost gave the impression of sleeves. The slim dress hugged her torso in a provocative way while still being demure enough for a formal occasion. The full skirt whispered as she moved and displayed a wealth of subtle tone-on-tone embroidery and beading. Her hair stood out starkly against it, like jet spun into silk against the brilliant sheen of her dress. She wore it in the elaborate coils currently favored by the nobility, which added additional height to her already impressive stature. Still, she came up to maybe the middle of his chest. It took an Astartes to look like anything more than a doll beside him. 

She laughed. She was laughing while he seethed behind his polite mask. Apparently, the insipid young man she was walking with was funny. Why did it bother him so much that someone else could make her laugh and he couldn’t even get her to talk to him?

He finally snapped. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get the upper hand back from her. He disengaged himself from his current conversation and made his way around the room in a circuitous fashion, so that he could come at her from behind in the hopes she would not notice and depriving her of the chance to slip away. The dance floor covering the center of the hall made it easier, disguising his approach with pleasant music and the whirling action of dozens of dancers. He paused to chat often enough that his overall goal wasn’t obvious. See, two could play this game. 

He timed his final approach to the exact middle of her new friend’s story, so she couldn’t politely pull away. The Primarch pounced. “Lady Athamyra, would you favor me with a dance?” He was all genial smiles and kind charm. 

“It would be my pleasure, my Lord.” She replied with a smile as predatory as a shark. His own smile widened in anticipation of the game. He was more prepared this time. He held out his hand, and she took it. 

* * *

First Captain Ezekyle Abaddon glanced around the grand hall. He and his Mournival brothers stood seemingly idly, here and there. In reality they surrounded their Primarch, shifting and circling around him like moons orbiting a planet. When a lady slipped up to his side without him noticing, he was very nearly startled. 

He composed himself and glanced down at the woman. “My lady,” he acknowledged gruffly, before moving out of the path he imagined she would take. She was dressed in a pure white gown that set off her tan skin and dark hair. The high-necked bodice, with its long sleeves and matching gloves, resembled a second skin. A matching leather belt divided the top from the full tulle skirt that covered her legs. He stared at her, waiting for her to move. 

She did not. Instead, she returned his gaze with an unsubtle abruptness that immediately raised his hackles. -First Captain- She signed in Astartes battle-sign. Her gaze flicked towards Horus for a nanosecond.

-Speak.- He responded instinctively. Abaddon’s brow knitted together in an ominous frown. How did she even know those hand signs? Her movements were more elegant, more smooth than his own. He raised his hand to ask just that when she signed again.

-Dance with me.- She added.

His expression must have been amusing for the vaguest smile briefly flitted across her stoic features. Before he could do anything she had caught his hands and stepped up close to him. To pull away now would certainly draw attention - to him, to the Mournival, and ultimately to their Primarch. It would reflect badly on all of them. Not to mention, it would make him look like an idiot and Tarik would never let that rest. 

He ground his teeth together and fixed her with a glare that would have wilted lesser flowers as he complied with her demand. She held his glare without batting an eye, as if she braved such powerful gazes daily. He observed her as they whirled around the dance floor, his feet falling in step with hers of their own accord, his body remembering patterns he had not needed in a very long time.

She was, he thought, rather pretty. Though not in a conventional way. Her features were sharp and exotic, her green eyes large and piercing. Her hair was dark, a little like his own, though hers was fuller and softer and a heap of tumbling curls where it had not been shaved up. He supposed she was quite attractive. The music shifted and she stepped in closer. He liked how her bosom looked pressed against the bulk of his chestplate.

Abaddon inclined his head towards her, to conceal his speech from idle eyes. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed quietly between his teeth. She tilted her face up to him but her silent gaze was his only reply. He wondered why she would not speak. Perhaps she could not speak? She looked familiar, gave him that distinct feeling of déja vu, but for the life of him he could not recall where he might have seen her before. It kept nagging at him but his mind was slow and his eyes kept finding excuses to wander down the slender, olive expanse of her neck.

She danced precisely, almost meticulously, in the way a skilled duelist might fight. Her small feet stepped through the intricate motions perfectly, and he realized unlike many of the women here, she was wearing flat shoes rather than high heels. Soft-soled ones by the sound of them, instead of the clicking of stilettos he associated with the noble ladies he had seen thus far. 

He was sorely pressed to keep up. These kinds of leisure activities weren’t particularly high on his free-time schedule. He was fairly sure he looked like a hapless oaf beside her. He was going to kill Tarik. This was undoubtedly all somehow his doing.

* * *

Dancing with her made them both look a little strange, Horus imagined. He knew how to dance with a mortal, but she took a few measures to fall into the rhythm of dancing with him. Once she did, though, she danced like she was born to it. He supposed that, in a way, she was, for this was undoubtedly as much a vital part of her training as marksmanship was to him. 

“I hope you are enjoying the evening.” He opened. A safe opener, but it would force her to set the tone of the conversation. 

“It has been a lovely night.” She replied. A polite reply, with shades of I was having fun until now and you made it worse. That was fine with him. She’d nearly ruined his day last time; he could ruin her night in return. 

“The Duchesse of Franc certainly knows how to throw a good party.” He commented. 

“That she does. She has almost completely impeccable taste.” The way she looked at him suggested she judged inviting him had been one of the Duchesse's less tasteful acts. 

“I doubt anyone has perfect taste. It seems more an ideal than an achievable goal.” He implied that her judgment was hardly flawless, either, as he tipped her back. He didn’t realize normal humans’ backs could bend like that and snap back with the fluidity of a snake. 

“I do.” She phrased it like a joke, but he could tell she believed it. It was rare for him to meet someone with such unassailable confidence in his presence, other than his Father. 

“Oh really? Your judgment is always correct?” He raised an eyebrow as he raised his arm. She spun under it, her arm curved in front of her in a graceful arc. She was poised on one toe but barely leaned on his hand at all. Her balance was nearly perfect. 

“Oh yes.” Her smile lingered as she looked him up and down. He yanked her back towards him with a little more force than he intended. She didn’t topple off balance, but she did end up pressed against him rather than hovering a few inches away. A faint flush passed over her face, the only untrained reaction he’d seen so far. He found it endearing, and kept her close. They were hardly the closest couple on the floor, but such familiarity was unusual for both of them. Abaddon had apparently been roped into dancing with a lady, and Horus smiled. Tarik was never going to let him hear the end of that.

Horus leaned his head down towards her. “Truly? And what is your judgment of me?” He whispered to her. 

“You are a consummate warlord and nothing else. Though you dance well for an imperialist pig.” She grinned and let him spin her around so her back was to him and her arms crossed against her chest. 

“Imperialist pig? That’s mighty rich for a daughter of the Pan-Pacific.” He knew that she must have been the daughter of one of Narthan Dume’s courtiers. Few had survived the conquest, mostly in scattered holdouts in the mountains, which had surrendered once their tyrant fell. 

“I learn from the mistakes of my forbearers.” Her smile wavered for a moment though, and beneath her sweet sandalwood perfume was the smell of uncertainty. 

“Are you implying I do not?” He murmured into her ear before she snapped out and then back in to face him. 

“Time will tell, I think.” She had a look of reserved judgment, but her glittering emerald eyes said she had already made up her mind. After one encounter, she had made up her mind. How could a mortal have the temerity to do that? His temper was rising as she seized control of their conversation again. He wasn’t angry, but he was frustrated. She seemed impossible to win over.

“You look very sure of yourself.” He steered them towards the door to the gardens. He wasn’t about to give up this argument, but he did not want the audience they surely had on the floor. 

“Is there a reason we are dancing away from the floor, my lord?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Is there something you do not want everyone to see?”

“We might have things to discuss that would be best not shared openly. I believe there is a shielded gazebo.” He suggested. She frowned. That seemed to put her off balance. She hadn’t thought he had anything of import to discuss. He didn’t, but she could stew on it and might suggest a topic when they arrived. That would tell him a great deal about her. 

“As my lord wishes.” She replied stoically, her face pleasant but her mind churning. 

They transitioned gracefully from dancing to walking, and whispers followed them as they left the room. Someone would come looking for them eventually. He gave her a polite hand up the steps of the gazebo. She lifted up hers skirts as she ascended the steps. He caught a glimpse of her hard-toed dance shoes and the fine black stockings she wore under the dress. Yellow and black, like an Imperial Fist, or a dangerous insect. 

* * * 

When the Primarch and the lady waltzed towards the edges of the ballroom, Abaddon’s mysterious partner immediately assumed the lead of their dance and did the same. There was nothing he could do. Well, protest, but that would have created a scene. And thus he was dragged along once more, slowly circling towards the edge of the hall as well. However, not the same edge as the Primarch and that was why it took him a while before he caught on.

The mysterious lady gracefully stepped out of the dance moves and started to walk, her arm hooking through his and grasping the crook of his elbow as if she could make him come along. Abaddon stopped dancing quite more abruptly and a mile less gracefully.

She led him down a side corridor, her strides confident without being haughty. They turned left several times and Abaddon realized they were circling back where they had come from. Until she suddenly turned right where he had expected her to turn left once more.

They came upon a small inner garden, a glazebo in an ocean of green grass and colourful flowers. It looked strangely out of place. The garden was as abandoned as the circumvent gallery they had stepped into and the corridor they had come out of. Abaddon could hear the sigh of the wind, the rustle of leaves, and the thump of his footsteps which were jarringly loud in the tranquil atmosphere. It was only then that he noticed he could not hear her footsteps. In fact, except for the rustle of her skirts and her soft breath, she moved soundlessly.

Yet before he could overanalyze this, she turned suddenly, let go of his arm and moved into the shadow of one of the enormous columns lining the gallery. Abaddon followed her, a frown creasing his brow. The tall shadow was accommodating enough to conceal them both from casual glances.

When for no apparent reason she started shimmying out of her dress an unfamiliar sensation settled in the pit of Abaddon’s stomach. His suspicious thoughts grinded to a halt as his gaze fixed on the slender waist and hips being revealed to him. He took a step closer to her without really noticing he did so. She looked soft under the skintight garment she wore under the dress – the curves of her hips and bum especially. There was something incredibly distracting about the way the skintight garment held her feminine shapes together. He wondered if her flesh would feel soft under his fingertips. It looked soft.

A full minute passed before he realized the skintight garment was in fact an armoured bodyglove. His mind kicked back into gear instantly. Armoured bodyglove. Soft-padded boots. Daggers. Sword. Pistols. Asassin. The words stabbed red hot into his mind, sharp and clear like knife thrusts. A heartbeat later his hand closed around her thin neck.

“Who send you?” He demanded as he rammed her up against the column. His gloved fingers pressed into the flesh of her neck. He did not bother to draw the ceremonial blade at his hip, it was dull and off-balance, and at any rate he needed no weapon to deal with a mere mortal, assassin or not.

\- Unhand me, Luna Wolf. - Her hand flicked through the signs with angry snaps. She struggled but he held her easily.

“Who. Sent. You.” He growled back as he grasped her weaponsbelt and hoisted her up to eye-height. He stepped in closer, glaring, their noses almost touching. “Don’t make me ask again, girl.” If she had been a boy he would have judged her not much older than a chapter recruit. She was a girl though, and he found their age always difficult to gauge. Tarik had once sagely remarked that the prettier a girl was, the closer she was to a novice’s age. Abaddon wasn’t sure whether to believe that. She did still have the softened features common to novices, though he wasn’t sure when girls lost those, if at all.

\- Unhand me. - She struggled and kicked, her booted feet landing against his hips and ribs with more strength than he had anticipated from the slender limbs.

“Stay still,” he growled pointlessly as he tried to hold her put, using his bulk to pin her against the column. He tightened his grip on her throat slightly. “Who sent you?” he hissed from between clenched teeth, their cheeks all but pressed together.

She glared at him for a long moment, anger in her eyes. Then folded an Aquila.

Abaddon frowned. Why would Horus…? It was in that moment that he saw the slim chain around her neck and the medallion suspended from it. It was obviously a force-field generator, but that was not what had jarred his thoughts to a halt. It was its design. Abaddon did a double take. The Imperial Aquila formed the bulk of the medallion, its wingspan proud and wide, its two heads gazing either side. However, a smaller eagle was held aloft between its claws, facing defiantly forward.

Abaddon immediately let go of the young woman, staring at her. He took a halting step backwards. He had heard rumours, of course, everyone had. But they were rumours. If she was here that meant that – he was suddenly extremely conscious of his previous less than chaste thoughts.

The young woman glared at him for a moment longer, but then continued changing her clothing. She stepped out of the dress and pushed it into his hands. Abaddon simply stood, trying to decide what to do. He had to tell his Primarch. Horus needed to know he was being watched, even if it was by his Father.

“Stop!” Abaddon started when she turned to leave, reaching towards her. His hand never landed on the shoulder he had aimed for. She was suddenly a dozen paces ahead, darting between the columns and leaping over the low hedge skirting the garden. She bounded across the grass, the flower beds and scaled up one of the tall trees with cat-like grace before he could do so much as blink. He had to find her, and promptly started after her.

“Oh, did she run on you, Ezekyle?”

Abaddon froze mid-stride, his expression congealing into a snarl as he slowly turned around. Torgaddon grinned broadly at him.

* * *   
Now that they had some privacy, Horus felt he could turn this conversation to his advantage. She might have the terrain of Terran politics memorized, but his strength was in his vast personal charisma. Her resistance to it was surprising, but he knew where she was weak. She was a nearly perfect politician, but how well could she deal with personal appeals?

“Do you really hate me?” He asked. She froze like a startled animal and stared at him. He’d broken the etiquette rules she operated in so well. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on to them forever- they obfuscated the truth in ways he disliked. 

“I don’t hate you, my lord Primarch. You are the son of the Emperor, adored by all.” Uninspired and rote. He pressed onwards, though he could not help but notice she named him the Emperor instead of our Emperor. 

“Then what do you think of me? You make no secret of your disdain.” He didn’t think she would believe him being hurt, but a little puzzled might play well. 

“I think we have very different perspectives on war and therefore everything political these days. I think that your Father did you no favors by making it impossible for you to fail at anything.” She explained calmly. A silent servant approached, bearing a tray of glasses. She selected a narrow flute full of sparkling blackberry wine. He took one as well, more to stall for time than anything else. 

“What do you mean?”

“If you don’t know what it is like to fail, you cannot rule, only conquer. You play war as if it were a game and you its most talented player.”

“But I am.” 

“That’s not the point. The point is that in the wake of the worlds you conquer you will leave behind only resentment and hatred if you do not treat them with the proper empathy. I do not see that empathy in you.”

“You don’t know me at all.” He pointed out. “We have talked for perhaps ten minutes.”

“Maybe I don’t, but I know men. Are you so different from us that my skills will fail me?” She looked up at him through her lashes. 

“It depends.” He hedged.

“So sometimes you are that inhuman.” She smiled. 

“Inhuman is a harsh way of putting it.” His tone was a touch defensive. 

“It is also true. You are inhuman, a creation of your Father.” 

“I am His son.”

“You are His general. He did not put you in a woman’s womb in a moment of passion; He constructed you piece by piece in a lab like an instrument, a tool fitted to a purpose. How much do you think He trusts such a synthetic creation?”

“Are you implying-“

“I am saying you are as blind to your situation as any soldier is. You are just following orders and making war for the sake of war like everyone else.”

“You talk like you’re from such humble origins, and here you sit in a garden that costs more than some armies wearing jewels and silks and drinking wine that’s older than both of us put together. You are nothing but a spoiled brat who has never seen the reality or necessity of war-“ His words were as full of venom as he could make them.

“I am of a conquered people, my lord. My parents were butchered by Thunder Warriors, even though they weren’t important at all. They are dead because they committed the sin of being born on the losing side of the battle.” She snapped back, putting her glass aside deliberately, like she was afraid she would spill it in the heat of the moment. 

“The Pan-Pacific Empire was ruled by a tyrant!”

“One could argue the same for your Father. He is a benevolent tyrant, yes, but a tyrant nonetheless. He chose the title of Emperor, of all titles.” Athamyra pursed her lips. “It stems from an ancient High Gothic root, Imperator, which means ‘general’ or ‘conqueror’. He did not choose ‘guardian’ or ‘father’.”

“The Council-“

“-fights for every scrap of influence and power we can scrounge from the Imperial war machine.”

“You are blind; you cannot see the benefit of what we do in the Crusade!”

“I see all too well what this Crusade might reap, Primarch. I see pain and suffering and misery amid the glory and it is a wonder that you do not. Do you truly lack empathy, along with fear?” She stated, color rising on her cheeks. “Do you have any care for the people you claim to serve?”

He had nothing to say to that. He didn’t fear, it was true, but he could feel. He saw no way to verbally convince her of that, though, and she was a poor enemy to have. He chose to show her the only way he could think of. Besides, it would shut her up for a bit. With confident forcefulness he reached out and put his hand on the back of her head, crushing her delicate updo, and pulled her face against his in a sudden kiss. She opened her mouth in surprise, which only made things easier. With little movements of his lips and tongue and a nibble here and there, she relaxed in his arms and started kissing back with the fury of revenge. 

Athamyra’s hands quickly found their way up his chest and over his shoulders. She appeared to give some ground, letting him bend her backwards, but having to support her weight kept him distracted long enough for her to run one finger up the hard shell of his ear. His hands tightened around her waist suddenly in response and she gasped. He loosened them, but only a bit, and she repeated the motion as he groaned. 

“Minx.”

“Barbarian.”

“Is that complaining I hear?” He kissed her again until she started making pleased little sounds. “That doesn’t sound like complaining. 

“It’s not.” She murmured between their lips. “Hm, you kiss better than you argue. You should keep quiet and keep kissing me.”

“I’m tempted to start the argument up again just to annoy you.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?”

“Of course not.” He proved it with another deep kiss, this one punctuated by one of his hands sliding down her back and firmly grabbing her rear. She made a satisfying squeak. 

“You are a bad man.” She murmured into the kiss. He made some kind of affirmative noise and continued to manhandle her. She felt so good under his hands, much better than anyone before. 

“I am not, and I’ll show you if you let me.” He grinned. 

“Oh my.”


	3. In Comes the Mournival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hastur is easily embarrassed, Ezekyle is grumpy, and the Emperor, beloved by all, is paranoid.

“…Sire?” The voice came from outside the gazebo. The voice was deep and very, very surprised. Horus looked up, a little annoyed. He hadn’t planned on ending this evening groping Athamyra in the gardens but now that he was, he didn’t really feel like being interrupted. The equally annoyed look on her face pleased him greatly.

“Yes, Hastur?” Horus’ eyebrows shot up as the rest of the Mournival appeared on the scene. “All of you?”

“Um, people are wondering where you went…” Hastur didn’t look at his sire, possibly because his sire’s hands were still firmly surrounding Lady Athamyra’s rear. 

“Are they?” He sighed. He would have to make another appearance in the party and bid farewell to the hostess, to do otherwise would be insufferably rude. The thought of having Abaddon throw Athamyra over his shoulder and toss her in their shuttle was becoming more and more appealing by the moment but was also probably somewhat of a political faux pas. Still, it would get her alone and when they were alone… they could see where the night took them.

“And where her ladyship went. There will be talk.” Tarik pointed out, with barely a smirk.

“Will you tell anyone?” Horus asked, eyes narrowed.

“Well, no…” Hastur looked awkwardly to the side. 

“What the dear Captain means is that we went missing together and now everyone will wonder what we were doing and the most entertaining assumption also happens to be true.” Athamyra commented. “Don’t look at me like that, you kissed me first.”

“If you weren’t so damn infuriating-“

“Oh, blame me, yes, the girl one fifth your mass forced it on you, everyone will believe that.”

“I don’t recall you resisting.” He pointed out. 

“Just because I didn’t start it doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. Besides, I won the argument, why should I be mad?”

“You did not win, I don’t know how you got that idea.”

“When a man would rather kiss you than continue arguing, it means he can think of nothing more to say.”

“That’s not true-“

“I assure you, I have more experience arguing with men who are inclined to kiss me. Captain Sejanus here doesn’t strike me as the type. Some of the others though...”

Horus and the majority of the Mournival gaped at her. Tarik, it seemed, was trying not to laugh.

“What?” Athamyra said with feigned innocence. 

“The Luna Wolves don’t hold to such decadent practices.” Aximand said stiffly. The effect of his disapproval was somewhat weakened by Torgaddon jokingly eyeing Abaddon, who just glared back. Sejanus was turning progressively darker shades of pink. 

“Oh I’m sure some do, you just don’t know about it. People are people, even Astartes.”Athamyra waved off his objections. 

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped speculating about the private lives of my Legion.” Horus said sternly. 

“Mm, I think I am part of the private life of your Legion now. Unless you don’t want to kiss me again?” She moved to turn away from him, a playful smile at her lips as she reached for her glass. However, it was no longer there. She frowned. 

Horus growled under his breath and pulled her hard against him, thoroughly distracting her. Abaddon froze, Torgaddon chuckled and Aximand sighed. Sejanus continued to blush for the four of them.

“I didn’t think so. It would be a damn shame if you didn’t want to kiss me, it’s quite fun.” 

“Um, regardless, sire, you might want to rejoin the party. I am sure that there will be other times you two can, um, socialize.” Sejanus managed.

“I’ll socialize him, all right. He needs it.” Athamyra joked, a mischievous smile on her lips. Sejanus turned bright red and Horus just stared, his eyes darkening.

“Do I?”

“I think so.”

“And as we know, my lady is always right.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Of course!” Regardless, she was flattered he called her ‘my lady’ in that way.

“Though in this case, my Captain is right and we should return to the party. For now.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Though we should continue this… discussion later. There is a question, though. I am watched, as are you. Our movements will be remarked upon.” She seemed smug about this prospect. 

“I don’t particularly care if people find out.” Horus pointed out. 

“You might want to check with your Father before you throw caution to the wind.” She warned him. 

“Having doubts?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“No, I just don’t want to be at the business end of your Father’s disapproval.” She pointed out, eyeing the guns of the Mournival meaningfully. 

“Mm. Point. I’ll talk to Him about it.” Horus replied, stroking his chin. 

“I imagine He already knows, so you’ll just be explaining it.” 

“Why do you think that?”

“Do you think you’re not watched?” She feigned a laugh as she glanced away from the spot her glass had been. “I cannot see them, but I’m sure someone He trusts is watching our every move.”

* * *

+She knows.+

“Of course she knows, my Emperor. She grew up on Terra, paranoia is in the water along with ambition.” Chief Companion Valens pointed out as he listened to and watched the feeds from the ball. The Emperor decided not to comment that He too grew up on Terra.

+Who is she? I know her political ambitions, but where did she come from?+

Valens tapped a few keys on the cogitator, passing through several stages of security. “She’s the heir of the Rajal family, from the Pan-Pacific Empire. Her older brother and her parents were killed in the sack of Narthan Dume’s capital. She was hidden in the mountains, apparently, and discovered a week later. Her steward reportedly opened the gates in exchange for his life. The Thunder Warrior in charge of the assault shot him for being a coward, and marched the girl and her governess out of the stronghold. She was… four, it says. She doesn’t remember much before the mountain stronghold according to the interviews. Her paperwork appears to be in order. Birth certification, naming documents, investiture papers… no genetic comparisons, but reportedly there was nothing left of her parents to compare them against.”

There was a light knock on the door. “Yes?” Valens called absently. A moment later a young Sister of Silence entered his headquarters at the top of the Hegemon Tower.

She startled when she saw the Emperor, but then quickly folded an Aquila in greeting. He nodded quietly in reply, after which she moved to Valdor.

\- I have brought something that might aid our investigation. – She signed, the hint of a smile edging onto her features as she produced a cloth wrapped item from her hip satchel. She held it out to Valdor.

Valdor took it carefully and unwrapped it, revealing a wine glass. “Lady Athamyra’s?”

\- Yes. – She replied.

“Are you certain?” Valdor inquired as he put it onto the cogitator’s scanner.

The young Sister scowled magnificently at the Chief Companion.

A faint smile flitted across the Emperor’s unknowable features before a more serious expression returned to His ageless face. +There is something about the lady that doesn’t seem right. Dig deeper. + He nodded in the young Sister’s direction, who beamed in reply. + And start running her gene-sample against the datebase.+

“The Thunder Warriors are all dead, I cannot interview them,” Valdor replied. “I will take a look at her additional documentation and run searches on her name in addition to the genetic analysis.”

+Do so.+

“Yes, my Emperor.”

* * *

They re-entered the party separately, several minutes apart, from different doors. That stopped no one from gossiping and wondering, though never directly to either of their faces. Athamyra directed all conversation away from what happened. Sejanus’s blushing, though, gave everything away. That man could not lie to save his life, she decided. It would have been almost adorable, if it wasn’t so annoying. 

She headed home to her upper spire suite a few hours later. In the lift-car, she leaned back against the seat with a sigh. Her life had just gotten more complicated. What was she thinking? Going somewhere alone with him gave him the upper hand. She did her best work with an audience, and without one he could exercise his strength in the form of his overpowering charisma. 

It was nice, though. He was naïve even as he was stunningly intelligent, strong and yet blind in his own way. It was… charming. Rustic, almost. The simplicity of his views was seductive to an over-sophisticated palette. She had to be careful. She should never have let him kiss her- for all she knew, her thoughts about him were the result of some kind of psychoactive substance produced in his saliva. You never knew what sort of fail-safes the Emperor had built into his sons. 

But it had been so nice, though. He obviously knew what he was doing and there was something intoxicating about making so mighty a man slip control. His possessive growl… oh, it made her shiver just thinking about it. 

Was she really so bound by her instinct that jealousy was attractive to her? She’d always found such emotions dangerous and primitive, but with him it made her want to fan the flames just to watch them burn. This was dangerous. 

He was dangerous. Like a wolf on a leash, docile until roused to anger. The strength of a demigod bound into physical form, a hurricane in a bottle ready to sweep away his enemies. She imagined, for a moment, what an unstoppable force they would be together. She had all the subtlety he lacked, all the political acumen that he thought he would never need. 

No. She had to stop this line of thought. She didn’t even like him that much. He was infuriating, martial, unsubtle, and not even really human. He was not a man that one liked idly as if one were a teenaged girl sighing over a favourite singer or player. He could be admired, hated, feared, respected, adored, but like was for boys and he was definitely a man. 

A really sexy, annoying, and not entirely human man. 

He lingered in her thoughts as she entered her suite and dismissed her servants to their quarters. She poured herself a measure of fine amesac and looked out the glass-paneled wall of her sitting room. The air traffic and spires of Terra shone in the night like a sea of flickering, bioluminescent creatures and coral. With the fog of pollution, it truly did look like it was underwater, drowning in its own waste. 

Ah, home. 

What was she going to do now? Maybe the Emperor would talk him out of it. She felt a pang of loss at the thought. Still, it would be better than having to do it herself. Though some part of her, some deep animalistic part of her, wanted to see where it went, to put him to the test. She’d had her share of men, mostly courtesans, but they were only entertaining on a purely physical level and that pleasure paled quickly. 

Maybe she just wanted what she couldn’t have, and even if Horus didn’t recognize it, he was something she couldn’t have. She tried to put him from her mind and focus on the days ahead. She flipped through her planner absent-mindedly. Meetings, parties, sessions of the Council of Terra, Representative Sing wanted to talk her to her about something, and there was the annual swearing of loyalty to the Emperor in a month. 

Enough to keep her distracted.

* * *

Horus wasn’t exactly sure what witchcraft that woman had worked on him, but whatever it was, he liked it. He paced in his quarters at the palace, having waved off the apologies of Sejanus. He wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never even considered courting a woman before. He wasn’t inexperienced, but he’d tired of the activity quickly. It lacked a certain spark, a certain challenge. 

She had that spark. She stood up to him, argued with him, infuriated him with her unwillingness to see, but it all made him more interested. He was sure eventually he would tire of her company, as he had of nearly every mortal, but for now he wanted more of it. A lot more. 

+Horus+

“Good evening, father.” Horus answered to the empty air, knowing his father could hear him all the same. 

+How did it go?+

“Well enough. I would much prefer a battle to the social games of Terra. Though I was able to talk to Lady Athamyra again. That was interesting.”

+I see.+

“Were you watching?” Horus frowned. 

\+ I won’t leave your safety to chance+

“What do you think?” Horus asked, though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

+She’s a curious creature+

“And..?” Surely there was more to it than that, Horus thought.

+Her past will be investigated+

Horus’ frown deepened slightly. He was not entirely sure how he felt about his father running a background check on a lady he had barely met. “She’s an Imperial Ward,” he said then. “Shouldn’t her background be well-documented?”

+Supposedly+

“What is your opinion?”

+You have the right to make your own choices, but she is playing games.+

“I don’t think she was playing games.” Horus’s smile was a little smug. 

+Perhaps+

“I know how capable she is.” Horus tried not to sound defensive, or feel defensive, for that matter. Surely, his father would know.

+Do you?+

“I think there is little she cannot do if she puts her mind to it.”

+A wise assumption+

“She is afraid of your wrath, though,” Horus admitted. It had not been difficult to see that her anger was not directed at him, not truly. It had been directed through him, to his father. He had not failed to notice how she ever said ‘the’ and not ‘my’ or even ‘our’ Emperor.

+She is wise. She may back away from you+

“You would prefer that.” Horus said, unable to keep his expression or mind neutral.

+Not necessarily+

“She should not fear you,” he said then. “And I don’t want her to back away from me.” He swallowed adding: ‘because of that’. And realized that by thinking it he had said it anyway.

+From power flows fear+

“True. But… she’s not afraid of me.” Horus frowned again.

+It is this that what worries me+

“I see.” Horus replied slowly. Then added, “I will keep seeing her, unless you object?”

+Not yet+

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to us. We would love to hear what you thought of it. And please, share this story freely but credit us and link back to us. Thank you!


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